“Oh, umm, let’s see … I got a Scooby-Doo, and a Dukes of Hazzard, and this Disney one that has a bunch of different characters on it, and one from a show that was called Gunsmoke—that’s a Western—and then that there. The Million Dollar Man kind.”

You catch yourself before you scream right in his jelly-smeared face. Actually feel your teeth having to dig into your tongue and forcing your mouth closed before you can reprimand him right here on his own property. You blink a few times, forcing a grin as you say, very politely, “It’s actually called ‘Six Million Dollar Man.’ Six. Not just a ‘Million.’ I mean, just so you know.”

“Whatever,” he says, starting to act a bit impatient now. “It’s a good one, that’s all I know about it. I like that guy right there, with the tree branch.”

“That’s him, the … Bionic Man,” you say, fighting back tears of some kind. “He was a test pilot and he works for the government now, after a horrible accident. See, they rebuild him. He’s got nuclear …”

“Lemme have it a second, I’ll show you the drink thingy,” the child offers as he puts his arms in the air again. You know this will be the end of it if you give in now, once his dirty fists get a grip on the blue handle again. It’s now or never, you reason. Do it now.

“You ever see the show, like, on reruns or anything?”

“Nope. We don’t have cable,” he says and stares at you. “Now, gimme.”

“So … wait, let me ask you something here,” you stammer, trying to get your bearings as you again measure the space between you and the nearest doorway. It would be a broken-field run, no question, what with all the tables and cardboard standees of sports heroes in the way, but you could make it. You feel confident about this. “How about selling it? You ever thought about that?”

“Why? We got a whole shelf of ’em over there,” he states, pointing toward a back wall. “All different ones, too.”

“Yeah, but is there another of these, the ‘Six Million Dollar Man’ kind?”

“Dunno. No, probably not, but that one’s mine …”